


The Times that the Winchesters did Drugs

by padaleckifantrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Cocaine, Drugs, F/M, M/M, Marijuana, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford, Shotgunning, Stanford Era, Weecest, Weechesters, maybe idk if i'm gonna put cocaine in yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padaleckifantrash/pseuds/padaleckifantrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam live a weird life and sometimes just need to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Young

**Tennessee, 1996.**

"You smell weird," Sam commented as Dean walked past him to get a drink from the fridge. His mouth was dry as hell and he just needed something to wet it.

Ah, beer. 

"You smell weird," Dean mumbled under his breath, too relaxed to think of a better comeback. He bent over to get the beer when he felt slim fingers dig into his back pocket and pull out his lighter, consequently, making the small baggy of weed fall onto the kitchen floor. Dean was too slow to get it and Sam was already cradling it in his still baby soft hands, lighter dropped onto the counter.

"What is this?" the younger Winchester asked, opening up the tiny bag and taking it out.

"No, no, no, Sammy, uh," Dean said quickly, snatching the drugs and the bag back from his younger brother. "It's some medicine."

"Dean, I may be 12 but I'm not _that_ stupid," Sam said, voice all tweeny and motherly, like his hands should be on his cocked hips with an apron tied around his waist.

"Well, then, figure it out on your own, genius," the older male grumbled, swiping his lighter off the counter and grabbing a beer from the fridge to take to his room. He only looked back once at his foal-like baby brother. "Go do your homework," he said softly before returning to walking to his room.

\---------

Dean had half a mind to wait until his brother was asleep before he rolled a joint next to his window on his bed. Dad would be mortified to know his oldest son was buying weed and rolling papers from the upperclassmen of his high school, but fuck it. 

Old man needed a joint himself sometimes it seemed.

Dean put away his things except for his lighter and joint and sat against the wall on his bed, right next to the window. He lit it and inhaled generously, holding it in his lungs for some time before turning his head and exhaling out of the window. After the second hit, he felt that weighted buzz warm his whole body, spring cicadas calling from the trees outside his open window, a soft breeze filtering in and out of his room. 

He was halfway through another drag when his brother walks in, too-big pajama sleeve falling past his knuckles as he rubbed his eyes, fabric slouching. Dean started coughing, choking on the previously relaxing smoke.

"D'n? What're you doin' up? You okay?" the boy asked quietly, sniffing softly, taking a few steps in. "And why does it smell weird again? What's that?" Sam padded more into the bedroom and crawled up onto the bed beside his bigger brother.

God damn the kid for being so curious.

"Nothing, Sammy," the older Winchester sighed and licked his index finger and thumb to pinch the lit end to stop it from burning. Before he could get up to put it in his desk, Sam's small fingers encircled his wrist and pulled the hand holding the joint to him. Dean was too relaxed and too tired to give a shit so he let Sam take it from him, only making sure that Sam didn't rip it apart or try to eat it or something.

"Wha'is it? Tell me for real this time, De," the boy sighed, voice free of judgement as he turned his moonlit hazels eyes up to Dean's.

"Alright, damn. It's pot, dude," Dean said quietly, running a hand through his hair before plucking the joint from Sam's fingers. He got up to put it in his duffel bag and returned to sit on the bed. "You gonna go back to sleep?"

"Can I try it?" Sam asked shyly, pulling at a string fraying from the baby blue hand-me-down pajama shirt. Of course Sam would want to follow what his big brother does instead of scolding him on having something illegal with him.

"No! Absolutely not," Dean hissed slightly, angry at himself for even letting Sam see where he put it. "You're way too young for it."

"Nuh-uh! I'm gonna be 13 in practically two months!" the younger Winchester argued, sitting up on his heels with a pout.

"Puppy dog eyes ain't gonna work on me, kid. Neither will any other sort of animal eye," the other huffed, giggling to himself at what he said. Things were quiet for a while until Sam's soft voice cut through the air like the sweet breeze.

"What's it feel like?"

Dean had gotten adjusted, back against the headboard of his small bed. At least they were renting instead of living out of a motel.

"Good. Like... You've only been swimmin' once, but it's like... Laying on your back, floating in the water, with the sun being just the right amount of warmth on you," he explained, shifting to lay down, one hand behind his head, one laying flat on his stomach. Sam gravitated towards him and laid beside him. He was getting a little too old to want to stay in Dean's bed with him, but Dean loved every second of having his baby brother near him.

"That sounds really nice. Why can't I have any if it makes you feel so good?" the younger questioned, putting his smaller hand atop his older brother's larger one, letting it rise and fall with Dean's breaths.

"It's a drug, Sam. I'm not gonna let my 12-year-old brother smoke pot," he grunted, chuckling slightly. "Man, if I ever catch you smokin' this shit..." 

"W-Well, you can't stop me!" Sam huffed, a small, playful smile gracing his lips.

"Oh, just watch me," Dean replied, letting his eyes drift closed. Letting his mind wander. Neither of them spoke after that, Dean falling asleep before Sam with the comforting weight of the other's hand on top of his own.


	2. Sammy's First Time

**Nevada, 1998.**

Dad was gone on a hunt and Dean was left in charge of Sam. Which meant, Sam was in charge of Sam. Dean knew that his younger brother could handle himself and always left enough money for food before going out and doing God knows what. 

This time, Sam invited a friend over to keep him company. Max, another 15-year-old like himself, and Sam sat on the ragged couch, watching Godzilla, absently biting into their pizza. Sam hated having to explain the sigils and salt but Max seemed content with the answer he was given. 

"Hey, Sam," Max murmured, putting his piece of pepperoni pizza down on the cheap paper plate. 

"Ya'?" Sam responded, mouth half full with his own piece. 

"I have something that'll make this pizza taste _way_ better."

"What, like, seasoning?" Sam snorted and put his piece on his plate and set it on the coffee table. 

"No, asshole," his friend laughed and reached into his backpack to pull out a small bag with weed inside, a lighter, and a blue pipe.

"Dude! Why the fuck do you have that?" Sam hissed, looking around even though he knew no one was home. 

"Relax, Mother Teresa, it's fine. We can smoke it outside, don't worry," the other soothed, standing up and cocking out a hip. "You gonna be lame and stay sober?" 

Sam felt heat rising to his cheeks and he shook his head, mess of hair falling into his eyes. He stood, showing his friend to the back door and letting them both outside. There was no patio furniture so the two sat against the brick wall separating their rented house from the neighbors. Sam watched with wide hazel eyes as Max tapped some of the weed out into the bowl of the pipe before sealing off the baggy and taking a hit.

Smoke fell downwards from Max's nostrils before curling up and around his face. He was gorgeous, really. Silky black hair that curled slightly around his strong jaw, prominent cupids bow, deep blue eyes... 

"Want a hit or you wanna keep staring?" 

Sam's eyes widened and he coughed into his hand.

"Sorry... Just zoned out. S'kinda late," he said lamely before taking the pipe with a hesitant hand, grabbing the lighter with the other. 

"So you gotta hold the carb," Max explained, gently taking Sam's thumb and pressing it over the hole in the side of it. "And when you see the cherry, the red shit, inhale some, then let go of it and inhale it all." Sam had no idea why it had to have so many steps. He sighed shakily before putting the opening of the pipe up against his lips, keeping his hand the way Max positioned it, and awkwardly lit it. He watched with fascination as he sucked in, the green lighting up red and he removed his thumb, sucking in a little too quickly. 

The smoke was harsh and hot in his throat and he pulled his mouth back and began coughing wildly, the smoke coming out in sporadic puffs. Beside him, Max was laughing and he took the pipe from Sam to clear the rest of the smoke. 

"Man, you alright? You took a huge fuckin' hit," Max chuckled, watching Sam continue with his coughing as he took his second hit. Sam just rolled his eyes and glared.

"Fuck you, man, this is my first time," the teen spat, no actual anger in his words. "Gimme that." He was hell bent on showing Max he could handle it. Sam went through the same steps as before but inhaled slower once he took his thumb off the carb. He let his head rest against the wall, eyes closed, and blew the smoke out of his mouth, handing the pipe over. 

"You feelin' anything?" Max asked, taking his third hit.

"I think so," Sam admitted honestly. His body felt like a blanket had been glued to him and he opened his eyes so he could turn his head and look at his friend. "What about you?"

"Mmm, yeah. This is strong shit. Stole it from my brother," he laughed. 

"No way, man, my brother smokes weed, too. Never know where he hides it though," Sam said and grinned. The world felt hazy. Like he was wearing glasses with a prescription that was on the edge of just right but still not perfect. 

"Probably hides it up his ass," Max chided and Sam exploded into laughter, pushing his friend's shoulder. 

"Shut up, idiot! That's so gross," he giggled and eyed the pipe. Max did the same then a lightbulb could practically be seen glowing over his head. 

"You know what shotgunning is?" Max asked, moving around the weed in the bowl, wiping some ash on his jeans.

Sam knew how to use a shotgun and knew that shotgun meant front seat privileges, but he figured that's not what Max meant. 

"No, what is it?" 

"Alright, so, just..." Max trailed off, staring at the grass. "Um..."

"Dude, what?" 

"Uh... Wait, what was I saying?"

Sam's brows furrowed and he realized he didn't remember either. 

"I have no cl--"

"Shotgunning! Right! Point for me," Max murmured, putting the pipe up to his lips.

Point? Point from what? Were they playing a game?

Sam couldn't make sense of what he said before lips were pressed to his. He gasped, smoke filling his lungs at the same time, and put a hand on the soft cotton of Max's shirt, not pushing and not pulling either. He pulled back, sputtering out tiny coughs. 

"Man, what the hell was that?" Sam grunted, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

"Shotgunning. You--Ya' gotta open your mouth and inhale when I blow the smoke into it," his friend explained. "Wanna do it again?"

"U-Uh... Sure," Sam said quietly, biting his lower lip. Max lit up the pipe once more to breathe in some smoke then turned to Sam, kissing him gently. Sam opened his mouth for him and inhaled slowly, like the second time he tried the pipe. It felt smoother and they didn't break apart once the smoke had dissipated from their mouths. Max set the pipe down on the grass beside him and scooted closer, cupping Sam's cheek as he kissed him with more fervor. 

A small moan slipped past Sam's lips but he was so high he couldn't care. For his first kiss, he seemed to be doing pretty well. Max tongued his mouth, goosebumps flying across the surface of Sam's tan skin as their tongues danced together. Max broke the kiss and attacked Sam's neck, biting and sucking. 

"Oh, God," Sam whimpered, fire shooting to his groin. He never knew how good being kissed on the neck could feel. 

"Let's go inside," Max murmured against smooth skin and Sam could only nod, pulling his friend up after he gathered his things to tug him into the house, cheeks red, heart thrumming with anticipation and the sweet high. Max hastily put the pipe, baggy, and lighter on the counter and they only made it to the couch before they were on each other again, Sam ending up straddling the other. Max gripped his hips and gently pressed the pet teen down against himself, tearing a long groan from Sam's dry throat. 

"F-Fuck," he stuttered and began humping at his own rhythm without Max's hands to guide him. His cock was aching in his jeans and his shirt clung to him from the summer heat without the A/C on and from how turned on he was. It was like every atom that made up his being was reacting to the touches and kisses, lighting up and firing in his system. The Impala's engine was unheard by the boys, their moaning too loud, Godzilla's roar almost matching their volume. Sam was on the brink of coming in his pants, he grinding becoming desperate, his fingers clutching his friend's shirt.

"What the fuck?" a familiar voice yelled and Sam's eyes widened, coming in his pants at the same time he looked up at his brother, a litany of high pitched moans spilling from his spit slicked lips. Dean was standing still, green eyes saucers as he stared at the scene in front of him. Sam became suddenly very aware of his surroundings and stumbled off of Max, falling onto the floor with a _thump_. 

"Get the fuck out!" Dean barked and Max didn't even say anything to Sam, didn't even go to take his pipe, weed, and lighter. He just grabbed his backpack and practically ran through the front door. Everyone seemed to be scared of Dean. "What the fuck were you doing, Sam?"

"Nothing," the younger Winchester groaned, sitting up and rubbing at the back of his head. 

"Didn't look like nothin'," his brother snarled and locked the door before going into the kitchen. Sam's body tensed as he waited for the explosion. "And what the fuck is this?! You were smoking pot with--with some kid while I was gone?" Dean stalked into the living room with the paraphernalia and glared holes into Sam. 

"I'm fucking 15. You were smokin' it when you were 15," Sam retorted, getting up. The squish inside his pants lit up his cheeks and he looked down, jeans darkened where cum had dampened the material.

"You're not me, Sam! Doesn't make it right," Dean said, anger clouding his words but something else was there that Sam couldn't place. Some hidden emotion. "Go fuckin' shower or something." Sam didn't even try to argue. He was too embarrassed to stand there any longer and ran to the one bathroom they had. 

Dean collapsed onto the couch, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the thought of sitting where his baby brother's friend was touching him. Those precious moments when Sam had looked him in the eye and came in his pants pushed their way to the front of Dean's mind and he groaned. Every neuron in his brain screamed from him to stop as he opened up his jeans to take his cock out of his boxers and stroke it furiously, the image of Sam's face mid-orgasm the only thing in his mind. Jerk off fantasies usually included Carmen Electra and Pamela Anderson but this time, it was purely Sam Winchester. 

Dean came with a strangled grunt and sighed, squeezing his eyes shut tight. What the fuck had he just done? He tucked his spent dick back into his jeans and got up to wipe the cum off of his hand and part of his shirt. 

"I'm sorry, De..." Sam whispered and the older male jumped at the sad voice, hurriedly throwing away the paper towel. 

"You shouldn't be smok--" Dean turned to face Sam mid-sentence, the words dying in his throat. Beads of water dripped from Sam's hair, some slipping steadily, slowly, down the boy's thin abdomen. A thin white towel tied around his hips, a trail of brown hair disappearing beneath it. Dean gulped and caught Sam's eyes with his own. They were red either from crying or smoking. He didn't know which. Maybe both. "You shouldn't be smoking. I don't want you doing that anymore, y'got it?" It took everything inside himself to keep his voice steady. 

"I got it," Sam replied with a tiny sigh and made his way to his bedroom. Dean leaned his head against the fridge, molars grinding together. He made his way over to the pantry and swung it open, grabbing the bottle of Jack, not concerning himself with getting a glass before trudging over to the couch. He plopped down onto it and took long pulls from the bottle, relishing the sweet burn of it. A kind of self punishment. Godzilla's credits were rolling and Dean changed the channel to something else although he wasn't watching. He was only thinking of how disgusting he was.


End file.
